


Monday's Main Man

by MollyWeisser11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Body Image, Chubby Hermione, Chubby Severus Snape, Chubby Snape, Chubby!Snape, Community: sshg_promptfest, Discord: Hearts & Cauldrons SSHG Server, Eating, Erectile Dysfunction, F/M, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Feedism, Gluttony, Headmistress Hermione Granger, Older Characters, Overweight, Porkish Pixies, Severus Snape Lives, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, binge eating, chubby Hermione Granger, chubby!Hermione, fat admiration, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25859101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyWeisser11/pseuds/MollyWeisser11
Summary: January 2035. Hermione and Ron's children are all grown up, and divorcee Hermione is back at Hogwarts to teach her grandchildren. But in the middle of the term, she's suddenly thrust into the role of Headmistress of Hogwarts after being Deputy Headmistress for five years. Who will she find to take over her Defense Against the Dark Arts courseload? Perhaps a Big Bad Death Eater will make himself useful in this regard… and, if she's lucky, he might make himself available for some extracurricular activities as well.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 22
Kudos: 67
Collections: ENGORGIO  Harry Potter Pudge Love and Weight Gain Stories, Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members, Stories featuring Feeding and weight gain and fat admiration kink





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iulia_linnea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/gifts).



> Written for the SSHG Promptfest on Livejournal  
> https://sshg-promptfest.livejournal.com/123240.html

  
**Title** : Monday's Main Man (NC-17)  
**Type** : Fic  
**Prompter** : [](https://iulia-linnea.livejournal.com/profile)[**iulia_linnea**](https://iulia-linnea.livejournal.com/)  
**Creator** : [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/MollyWeisser11/profile)[**MollyWeisser11**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/MollyWeisser11/)  
**Beta(s)** : [**LunaP999**](http://lunap999.tumblr.com/)  
**Rating** : NC-17  
**(Highlight to View) Warning(s)** : Weight Issues; Gluttony; Fat Admiration; Feederism; Erectile Dysfunction.  
**(Highlight to View) Prompt** : "Goodness! How _big_ you've grown."  
**Summary** : January 2035. Hermione and Ron's children are all grown up, and divorcee Hermione is back at Hogwarts to teach her grandchildren. But in the middle of the term, she's suddenly thrust into the role of Headmistress of Hogwarts after being Deputy Headmistress for five years. Who will she find to take over her Defence Against the Dark Arts courseload? Perhaps a Big Bad Death Eater will make himself useful in this regard… and, if she's lucky, he might make himself available for some _extracurricular_ activities as well.

**January 2035**

"Severus! It's been so—Goodness! How _big_ you've grown…"

The words tumbled out of her mouth like so many flobber-worms before she could take them back. Not that this fact stopped her hand from flying to her lips.

Severus' cheeks were tinged a bit pinkish, though if it was from his jousts with the moving-staircases or from embarrassment, she could not tell.

"I see that my memories are not at all remiss…when it comes to recollecting Gryffindor's famed aptitude for tact…Headmistress."

Without further comment, he relinquished his body to the waiting Regency sofa. It was fortunately of accommodating proportions and strength, but Headmistress Granger still braced for the impact.

Despite being substantially… broader, and softer… Severus was otherwise exactly as she remembered him from her schoolgirl days. Long-limbed, imposing, and… well, as Minerva might have put it when in a less-than-prim moment, _A braw laddie._

Hermione hadn't really noticed much of the _braw_ before, but now in her self-described "spinsterly" age of 55, the energy seemed to radiate from him with unparalleled intensity. The bit of podge around him just concealed the coils of a snake, ready to strike. She rolled her lip under and tried to remember — when was the last time she bothered with a hair-removal charm for under her nose?

"I do sincerely beg your pardon," Hermione murmured, feeling for the umpteenth time this quarter that she was ill-prepared for the assumption of these duties. Never mind she'd been deputy to Minerva for over five years prior to the older witch's sudden passing. "I am glad you returned my owl." _Please let me not have bollocksed this up already._ "I know Minerva wished you'd come back sooner."

This elicited a quizzical eyebrow but no further comment. He didn't believe her. No matter.

"So, I know that Potions is what you taught most of your career here at Hogwarts," Hermione continued, "Ordinarily, as you have not taught here for many years, I would encourage you to play to your strengths and return to that post at least for the remainder of the semester while you get reacquainted. However, my current potions teacher, Millicent Bulstrode, while a competent potions instructor in her own right, would not be liable to take the transition to a different subject well."

Severus nodded. "I trained her in her mastership. She's quite adept in the craft, but I unfortunately must agree that her emotional stability leaves something to be desired."

"A common feature amongst Hogwarts Potions masters," Hermione permitted herself to snipe just the tiniest bit. "I do not like to meddle with tradition if I know what's best for me."

He snorted at this, and Hermione continued, "And so, as I cannot move Millicent into a different course, and as I find myself to suddenly be a Headmistress, unfortunately I find myself without a professor for my own course. Which is, as you likely remember from my letter, Defence Against the Dark Arts."

She allowed the words to hang for a few moments, and before he could respond, she added, "And there are few others better equipped to teach it in wizarding Britain, at this time, than yourself."

This made him outright laugh.

"Why not Potter or Weasley?" His voice washed over her with the resonance and depth of a double-bass viol.

She smiled thinly. "I said _teach,_ Snape."

"Ah," he responded, a frown of displeasure on his face, "I see."

"We are now raising a generation at the school that has no real recollection of the wizarding wars," Hermione stated, feeling her heart sink. Hopefully his being here was testament to him being at least receptive to persuasion. "Our children's children never have known the direct effects of fear."

"And they need to get a taste of the big, bad _Death Eater_ to keep them from becoming spoiled rotten."

The rakish grin he gave her was completely disconcerting. Apparently one thing he'd learned in his nearly forty years off from teaching: a Snape with a smile was grossly more terrifying than a Snape with a scowl.

Hermione had the good grace to feel chastened at the observation. "I didn't see it like that," she offered, glancing down at her desk, feeling as measly as a tomtit.

"Of course you wouldn't." Snape seemed to have a good humor about it, at least. "But then again, my dear, you're in for a bit of luck."

With a flourish, he stood, and spun on his heel. She expected him to stalk out of the room, but instead he was back facing her again, and attired in his splendid regalia of old: black upon black upon black.

It didn't dawn on her until she saw it that his hair was no longer the perfect match for the fabric. The attire he'd strode in wearing was grey rather than black, which created the illusion of him having not aged a day. But in his old colors (or lack thereof?) his hair revealed the secret of his seventy-odd years, along with the whispers of age lines in his face.

"Nearly ready," he whispered menacingly, and then with a practiced hand he waved his wand at his face and hair until it all tidily aged backwards around forty years.

The extra padding, Hermione noted with a regretful sigh, had disappeared as well.

"I've come to be of a mood for teaching again, as it happens." Snape stared down at her, the only difference between his more youthful appearance and his Hogwarts portrait was the spectacles on his nose.

It was unnerving, the way he seemed to expect some kind of applause for the feat. Perhaps he'd gone a bit barmy in his age.

"I rather liked it before the wand-waving," Hermione noted, but nodded with grudging approval. "But this will terrify the dunderheads better."

"Hm."

He seemed thoughtful, and in a flash he had regained his previous form, podge and all. "It seems congratulations are in order."

She pursed her lips in question.

"On losing your Weasley half." Severus raised his hand to show his own barren ring finger.

She chuckled and turned around one of the photographs on her desk. "Only partially," Hermione admitted, and ruefully drew the comparison between her svelte pre-birthing self holding her nephew baby James many years ago. "A bit has stuck around uninvited."

Oh dear. She'd forgotten that veneer of effeminate modesty didn't have the intended effect with her former Professor. The clockwork seemed to spin in Snape's head audibly, calculating the perfect insult. It wasn't actually too long, but it felt an eternity waiting.

Then, with a sly and wicked smile, he murmured, "Oh, Ms. Granger. I dare say. How big you've grown."

And then he snatched up the offer letter she'd slid across the desk, then in almost a chipper mood, he practically bounced out of the room.

For Hermione's part? She resolved to take care of those pesky upper-lip hairs immediately. If she had any response to say to that, she'd best say it with a clean chin.

  
  
Drawing by _MyWitch_ on LJ <3 <3 <3 <3  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hadn't worn this plunging neckline for nothing.

The following Monday, Snape loomed over her while she minded her own porridge.  
  
"Good morning, Headmistress," he indicated waspishly, the tiniest curl of a smirk etched upon his face.  
  
Seventy-five years old or not, the man was _frightfully_ startling before she'd finished her first cuppa.  
  
"It is now," she answered with the kind of innuendo humor that only a powerful middle-aged woman can safely wield.  
  
He appeared pleasantly surprised at the repartee, but only indicated this by flinging himself in the chair next to her and offering a challenging glint in his eyes.  
  
"So it would seem," he mused, intoning greater meaning than she thought strictly professional. Was it possible he was interested in her? While she'd been overtly hinting at her own attraction at their last encounter, she did wonder if there was a chance of reciprocation.  
  
If they weren't magical folks, she'd have taken for granted his interest. She looked good for fifty-five, in her own opinion — her annually-increasing softness kept the wrinkles at bay, and her curls had matured to a rather pretty silver. But wizard men famously kept their stamina longer, so the reputable and rich ones made even more enticing prospects to the younger and more desperate women than in Muggle society.  
  
Perhaps he was wanting for cash. This hypothesis made sense: he hadn't put up quite so much a fight as she'd expected regarding his employment details, accepting her first salary number without any negotiation. Aside from being suspicious, this suggested to her that she was low-hanging fruit: single, lonely, and cooped up for three seasons of the year in _Scotland_ with a bunch of rowdy hormonal teenagers.  
  
But she'd had flings with coworkers before, ones of both material import and emotional significance. Including Slytherins. She was a sadder but wiser woman. It didn't hurt for her to make herself available to him, if it was mutually enticing. She knew how to guard her heart and just have some bloody _fun._  
  
Indeed, the way his eyes seemed to dart away guiltily when she turned to him? It seemed like fun _might_ be on the agenda.  
  
She hadn't worn this plunging neckline for nothing.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wouldn't mind a drink, if you're up for it."

That night, they met by accident in the dark narrow staircase connecting the upper and lower staff quarters.  
  
"What are you—" they simultaneously asked, outing themselves both in an instant.  
  
"After a snack," Hermione said defensively, though they both knew she didn't need to head down to the kitchens for a bite.  
  
"After a shag," Snape responded, quirking an eyebrow lasciviously.  
  
She flushed an unattractive puce color, she was sure, but perhaps the shadows hid it.  
  
"From whom?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips and feeling very much the picture of a matronly Molly Weasley.  
  
His nose wrinkled and his lip curled upwards, showing a hint of his front teeth. "From the woman who's been throwing herself at me since my arrival," Snape snarled, clearly disgusted. "Sybil Trelawney."  
  
The two of them stared at each other — Hermione disappointed but also confused. Minerva had put Sybil out to pasture over two decades ago, the week Pansy Parkinson finished her mastership in divination. Did he not know this, or…  
  
Then he started wheezing — one hand balled in front of his mouth while he lost his breath — and it took Hermione a moment to realize that he was _laughing._  
  
She couldn't remember ever hearing Severus Snape _laugh,_ which was probably why she mistook it for respiratory failure.  
  
Once he regained some semblance of composure, he offered her what seemed to be another terrifying smile.  
  
"I regret to inform you," he said with a dark chuckle, "I won't be clearing any bats out of _that_ belfry any time soon."  
  
This made them both laugh together — Hermione guiltily, for she did not (on principle) approve of poking fun of Hogwarts teachers, even if Trelawney never had been on her own staff. Snape seemed to sense this, and wound it down abruptly.  
  
"I wouldn't mind a drink, if you're up for it," he suggested, and grimaced. "There's rather little in the cupboard you've allotted me, and I haven't had a chance to take myself to Hogsmeade."  
  
"The pesky arses that much a bother?" Hermione asked turning around, her stomach twisting inside herself. She had been _hoping_ for this, but the fact it was actually _happening_ made her feel a bit woozy.  
  
"Not so much _them,_ " Snape answered, his tone rather light and droll as he followed her up the stairs. "But being _here._ It's bringing things back that I hoped wouldn't resurface in this lifetime."  
  
The plainness of this confession, despite the way he punted away the feelings with humor, made something inside her tick forward.  
  
He was different from how she remembered. Not a tremendous surprise, really — but she'd imagined him to be somewhat less pleasant considering the way she'd seen him, her whole childhood. It was odd and a little off-putting, and simultaneously made her knickers feel too tight.  
  
She didn't answer, allowing his words to hang in the chill of their walk, until she'd ushered him through her chamber's door.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come with me to the bedroom."

"Tell me — why you took this job if being at Hogwarts is driving you to drink, the first night."  
  
He chuckled, apparently not allowing himself the luxury of losing control like he had in the halls.  
  
"I don't rightly know," Snape stated, circling his glass and staring into the fireplace. It wasn't cold enough yet for a fire, but Hermione had conjured a heatless magical blue one anyway (as was her custom). "I imagine I wanted to prove to myself that I'm not a coward, after all."  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she pushed her spectacles back up her nose with her palm. "I don't think anyone considers you a coward. Harry himself calls you the bravest man he ever knew."  
  
Snape snorted in disbelief, and shrugged. "He knows me less well than he once did."  
  
The comment was odd, and sounded like there was a story behind it, but Hermione never pried without good reason, these days. Years of working closely with Minerva had put a stop to that old habit.  
  
Instead, she put her feet upon her footstool and sipped her mint tea.  
  
They shared a companionate silence for several minutes, and Hermione began to think about her cozy warm bed. Just as she was deciding that she'd misread the situation, and that Snape wanted nothing to do with her, the older man cleared his throat.  
  
"Also," Snape said, after a final dreg from his whiskey glass, "if I have not grossly overstayed my welcome, I would like to make myself available for some extracurricular assignments."  
  
Oh. _Oh._  
  
Hermione felt her face flush again, but the only light in the room was the blue fire, so he probably couldn't see.  
  
"I have some ideas," she suggested, and stood with a matter-of-fact motion. "Come with me to the bedroom."  
  
He didn't need to be prompted twice; he heaved himself up from the low lounge chair with a cantankerous grumble and padded after her to the next room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you customarily so disposed to every man you take to your bed on a Monday evening?"

They didn't need to discuss things in detail; Hermione began undoing her blouse in a succinct and no-nonsense fashion. Soon she was completely naked aside from her knickers, and then she turned to Snape.  
  
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the dressing-table. It wasn't a surprise to see the doughy, pale stomach that wobbled over her waistband, nor the saggy fullness of her breasts that stretched down nearly to her podgy navel. What _was_ a surprise was to see the apparent lust and _hunger_ in Snape's eyes at the sight of her bare body.  
  
"You are a vision," he whispered, his breathing a little raspy. _"Beautiful."_  
  
Hermione grinned awkwardly, staring at Snape's own wobbly stomach as it struggled against his waistband. There was something enticing about him, despite the mundanity of his flabbiness.  
  
"Wish I could say the same," she returned, giving him a coquettish view of her behind as she clambered upon the tall bed.  
  
"How _terribly_ rude." He continued to remove his clothing nonetheless. "Now tell me," Snape inquired, one calculated eyebrow arching, "are you customarily so disposed to every man you take to your bed on a Monday evening?"  
  
She spread herself across the bed like lox upon a bagel, and she watched him struggle to get a leg up onto the mattress. His podgy middle made the endeavor a little more strenuous than he'd expected, she noted with a rush of adrenaline. He had to turn himself around and seat himself on the edge, then whip his legs up after him.  
  
Hermione allowed herself a slow breath of admiration for those long limbs. His skin sagged a touch at his calves, but she spied muscle beneath the flesh. "No, I admit I'm not." Then, with a superfluous wink, she elaborated, "I'm _much_ worse to my Thursday gents."  
  
"Oh," Snape chuckled in a low tone, and leaned in to oh-so-gently land a butterfly kiss upon her lips. He smelled delicious, like potions smoke, chopped herbs, and witch hazel. Then he pushed himself up off her and smirked, propping his head up with a poised elbow. "So you line them up according to days of the week."  
  
"They _come,_ " Hermione answered, easing up to greedily suck his lower lip into her mouth. "When _I_ want them to."  
  
He _tasted_ delicious too, like anise seed or fennel. The fleshy wetness of his tongue sank joyfully into her mouth, and it made her hunger deepen. It was as if a light was switched on below her belt, activating long-submerged yearnings she hadn't remembered so intensely. Her routine wanking habit was _far_ less arousing.  
  
And he seemed to be enjoying himself as well, if the light in his eyes was anything to go by. "Well," he responded with devilish calm, as he withdrew from the kiss for air, "Next time, I'll come, then snog. See how that goes."  
  
Hermione laughed outright — in a cool, supercilious way calculated to make him squirm. "Let's see, old man, if you even pass the _audition._ "  
  
"Ah, yes." He sounded offended, but the soft pinching of her love-handle belied his true feelings. "Malign me based on a mere number. That will show me."  
  
Snape proceeded to kiss her at that point, and Hermione felt herself nearly swoon away at the passion and vigor of the event. His hand touched just at the nape of her neck, pulling her in like a gentle shepherd guiding his crook. The masculine touch of control was tinged with a hint of deeper respect, which was shrouded in the mystery of their playful banter.  
  
Hermione realized she hadn't enjoyed herself so much in _years._ And they hadn't even gotten to the all-important naughty bits.  
  
Her resistance was deemed futile once he whispered the following in her ear: "I daresay, after this, I won't let any other Monday Man touch you."  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I must confess to having an extraordinary sweet tooth."

Soon enough, she found his tongue rapping at her chamber door. The cries, the moans, the actual god-forsaken tears she shed: nothing prepared her for the way he tantalized her to fruition time and time again, barely giving her space to breathe before tempting her along again.  
  
Finally, the exhaustion of too much ecstasy settled upon her, and she patted his head as it strained to catch the pretty delight again.  
  
"You have served me well, old man," she taunted, beaming ear to ear and trying not to appear as love-struck as she felt. "Now claim your reward."  
  
"With pleasure," he purred, withdrawing from between her legs to wipe his mouth on a convenient handkerchief from the bed-side table. He also thrust a warm cleaning spell between her legs, and she relaxed into the pleasant sensation.  
  
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine in advance what his cock would feel like, hot and full between her folds…  
  
Then, she realized it'd been at least five whole minutes of gentle waiting. Her body was cooling, and her confusion was rising.  
  
She opened her eyes and looked at him, furrowing her brow as she watched him.  
  
It seemed he was frantically trying to get his appendage to function properly; his fingers worked their way up and down in frenzied motions, but without complete success.  
  
"Damned potion," he cursed as she noticed him. "Just like it to go sour the minute I need it."  
  
Truth be told, he looked almost as if he were close to crying. For Snape, anyway. His eyes were squinty and his voice was tight. A discarded bottle sat tidily on the night-stand, and as Hermione picked it up, she smelled the familiar rancid scent of decaying Crimsonweed.  
  
"When did you brew it?" she asked, smiling faintly. While it was a disappointment to see him in these straits, it certainly wasn't very surprising. Being on the stubbornly scruffy side, he likely didn't take great pains to care for himself health-wise.  
  
"It should say on the label," Severus grumbled, eyes closed now as he tried to summon his strength.  
  
She looked as indicated. "It's over five years old, Snape."  
  
"Oh, bloody _hell._ "  
  
He snatched it from her and read the bottle. As he did so, Hermione noticed she felt strangely attuned with Snape's discomfort. Despite his bravado, he wasn't quite the Don Juan he pretended to be.  
  
"So it would seem," he agreed tersely, and set the bottle down again — a bit too hard. It clanked loudly in the otherwise empty void of the room. "For which, I must apologize. If I'd realized my body would be unable to per—"  
  
"—Oh, _do_ shut up," Hermione pleaded, and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Come and cuddle me. I don't care about all that."  
  
"You don't?" His gravelly voice betrayed his lack of confidence in this area, and it melted her heart into a puddle.  
  
"Not one whit. For all my pretending, I haven't had a lay in years, myself." So saying, she practically dragged him back into the center of the bed, and she nearly purred as he wrapped his soft arms around her. They were both a touch sweaty, and therefore they clung together like lovers parting at the airport. "You have satisfied me _immensely_ tonight. Well done, Snape."  
  
"I see." She could nearly _hear_ his thoughts ticking through his head.  
  
"So," Hermione suggested, allowing one hand (trapped between them) to daintily circle the top of his belly. "I see you've picked up a bit of a fancy for food, unless I'm mistaken."  
  
"Somewhat," he murmured, apparently reluctant to move on from his self-perceived failure. "But it wouldn't be a problem to cut down. I know I ought to lose a few."  
  
"Not at all." In response, she began to suckle at the soft hint of his second chin. "You are _exactly_ right."  
  
"It isn't dreadfully difficult for me," Snape went on, beginning to ramble in his obvious discomfort with the topic. The shadows of the man he'd used to be began to fade into view, as his eyes stared aimlessly at the ceiling, dissociative from his feelings. "With my generally poor record with women, I have paid no mind to—"  
  
" _No._ " Hermione shut up his _annoying_ self-flagellation immediately. "I." (She kissed him). "Will." (She kissed him again.) "Not." (Yet again.) "Stand." (And still again!) "For." (You get the drift.) "This." (Finally the last one.)  
  
(Oh, sorry, there was one more besides.)  
  
(There we go.)  
  
Hermione pulled back and smirked at the way he had paled. "I won't hear such nonsense," she scolded in her best impression of Minerva. "Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
"I apologize," he mumbled, barely able to form the words together. In her view, she thought he might still be having trouble emotionally. His dark eyes were focused on her, but still seemed far away. "I realize that by impugning myself in this manner, I am also suggesting a lack of appreciation for your identical position."  
  
She rolled her eyes, and he bit his lip with worry, already realizing he'd gone too far once again.  
  
"Hmph. Indeed." So saying, she grasped both his hands and placed them on her soft, well-padded waist. "And don't you forget it, Snape. You are absolutely _wild_ for this faded flower of a woman."  
  
He appeared very quiet for a few moments, as if closely processing the issues she presented. Finally, he acknowledged, "Fine. We will not discuss further."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure we will," Hermione answered, loving this contrary streak she was exhibiting. "What are your favorite foods, Snape? Do you fancy a nice pudding, or are you more of a pie and chips man?"  
  
The low growl in the back of his throat might have been imagined, but it also might have been too real. "I must confess to having an extraordinary sweet tooth," Snape answered tentatively, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Are you implying that you are hungry yourself, Headmistress?"  
  
"Just bloody well call me Hermione," she corrected, waving her hand at the fireplace to summon some supper. "You're naked in my bed, after all."  
  
"Rather," Snape responded, the ghost of a (genuine) smile briefly touching his lips.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This was… a bit much."

Pumpkin sherbert, Bakewell tarts, oatcakes with marmalade, honey-lavender custard, and the feast rounded off with a robust Dundee cake. Hermione ate her fair share, but most of it was imbibed by her guest of the evening, who greedily enjoyed being fed bite by delicious bite.  
  
They plundered the best of all these desserts before Snape had enough, looking a bit green around the gills but clearly pleased nonetheless.  
  
"This was… a bit much," he observed, shy as a fawn on its first date with a wolf. His stomach was conspicuously round and distended, as if boasting of its merry meal. His cheeks were hot and slightly pink, and he breathed in slow, shallow breaths that obviously strained his middle.  
  
"But you enjoyed yourself." There was no question of that, Hermione knew — the proof was in the hard peg of arousal causing a lump in the blankets.  
  
He quietly swallowed a belch in response, and accepted the hot sweet ginger tea she poured for him. "Perhaps." The man was obviously trying to hide his utter bliss of the moment, and he did not comment as Hermione rested next to him with a sigh, placing one hand possessively on his taut stomach.  
  
The pair of them sat there in contented silence for a bit, until Hermione's curiosity got the better of her. Her hand crept below the blankets to the place where his erect member presented at full mast.  
  
A delicate finger swiped over the tip, and he groaned.  
  
"Oh, gods."  
  
She couldn't resist such a delightful, appreciative, captive audience. Her mouth bore down upon him for her second round of dessert, and she rendered him speechless aside from low, overpowered moans.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And what if… what I like… is beyond what you have the appetite for?"

It was long past midnight when he finally put on his clothes and staggered towards the door, a dreamy exhaustion coloring his face.  
  
"When would you like to see more of me?" he quietly asked, clearly dreading the answer. "Next Monday? Next month? Never?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione frowned, and pulled her kimono tighter around her waist. This had the unfortunate side effect of exposing her breasts to the cold, but Snape smirked at the sight, which made her flush warmly. "I have spent far too long waiting for things to happen in my life. Waiting for Ron to become the man I wanted him to be. Waiting for the children to grow up and get out of my hair. Waiting for my chance to join the Wizengamot. Only one of which has ever happened, of course." She massaged her temple with one hand, leaving the implication unsaid.  
  
"So, when?"  
  
He was trying not to come off as a lovelorn puppy, she could tell — but his indifferent tone didn't fool her one bit. The man was smitten with her. Possibly just as much as she was, with him.  
  
"Whenever you like," she answered, and before he could respond, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him soundly on the mouth. "Just knock, of course, lest you happen to encounter one of my other suitors."  
  
A sly, patient look entered his eyes.  
  
"And what if… what I like… is beyond what you have the appetite for?"  
  
She snorted. "You'll know if I'm full."  
  
"Indeed." He stooped down and kissed her on the cheek, his lips lingering just a moment before he relaxed back into standing. Then, with a stern stride, he marched away from her back to his own rooms.  
  
Despite herself, Hermione wondered if she'd ever get to see him naked again. It'd be just like him to vanish into the clear blue sky right after this, terrified of the inevitable follow-up. Better and worse men alike had done that, in her experience.  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought I'd better finish what I started yesterday."

The next night, she was asleep on the sofa when she heard a gentle knock at her door — almost too soft to be heard. Hoping against hope she wasn't mistaken, she flung herself out of her seat and threw the door open.  
  
Snape stood there, looking tightly buttoned and prim, but a hint of a real smile was on his face. "Headmistress."  
  
"Professor."  
  
She allowed him in, closed the door, and was immediately thrown against the wall, pinned beneath his soft and strong arms.  
  
Hermione lost her breath, relishing the feel of his passionate energy. And she was extremely excited to feel as he thrust his pelvis into her abdomen. The meaning was clear.  
  
"I've been thinking about you," Snape purred, and his eyes were dark and penetrative. "And I thought I'd better finish what I started yesterday."  
  
She noticed at his mouth a hint of chocolate; she reached up and lifted it off with a gentle touch.  
  
He flushed red at the obvious implication: he'd been _preparing_ for their extracurriculars.  
  
It was, to Hermione's great surprise, extremely hot to know that he'd been munching his way through chocolate frogs since dinner to be ready for _her._ "You'd _better._ " She didn't need to be told twice, and with a firm hand she tugged him to the bedroom.  
  
And to save him the embarrassment, she didn't say a word later, when she got up to use the loo and noticed something amusing: on the floor underneath the chair he'd thrown his trousers, around a dozen golden wrappers had fallen out of his pockets.  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'd rather be a bit plush and happy, I suppose."

  
While they didn't spend _quite_ every night together after their first exciting evening, they spent fewer nights separated. And, well, they'd found the most reliable way to get past the erectile dysfunction was to stuff the man like a Christmas goose. Even his fresh batch of potion wasn't as effective.

So, well, feasting became a ritual that accompanied most of their get-togethers.

"I might psychoanalyze it," Snape murmured, working to get his trousers buttoned on a Sunday morning with great difficulty. "It wouldn't be particularly interesting. Food scarcity as a child, chronic stress induced nausea during the wars, a sense of safety in being able to indulge in little luxuries. Utterly banal excuses for the most disgusting thing about me."

"You're not alone, is the thing," Hermione responded, feeling rather juicy and delicious herself. She bore new stretch marks for the first time since Rose was born, and she wasn't too aggrieved by them. "I'm enjoying this immensely, too."

"It's not the same, though," Snape grumbled, giving up his efforts as a bad job. "Good gods. I'm going to have to have these tailored. Do you realize, Headmistress," he added, quirking an eyebrow at her accusatorily, "how much our rendez-vous will be costing me in clothing bills?"

"Would you have it any other way?" Hermione cooed, grinning at his poutiest glare.

"What do _you_ think?" he asked, and wrapped her up in his arms. They remained there a moment, breathing deeply of each others' scents, and then Severus sighed, and he patted her rump to prompt her up from her perch.

"Ah, well," he mused, standing with effort and beginning the laborious process of sucking in his gut enough to button his trousers. "I'd rather be a bit plush and happy, I suppose."

"Indeed," Hermione responded smoothly, running a sedulous hand around his comfortable waist. "As would I."

Snape chuckled lowly, and with an energetic tug, he managed to get the waistband of his trousers closed. "Are you sure you fancy...this?" With disgust, he flicked the bulbous form of his stomach, and he grimaced at the resulting wobble. It was the quintessential bowl full of jelly. "Are you _quite_ right in the head?"

"What?" Hermione asked, incredulous. Then, to make a point, she taunted him. "Goodness! Severus Snape. How _big_ you've grown… what a massive, delicious belly. What delightfully ripe flesh under your chin. How lovely and chubby your cheeks are. Are you even the same man who terrified me beyond reason in my school days? You look so different, and somehow, I think I rather fancy you."

He kissed her, tasting of marzipan and butterscotch candies. Then, he growled and pulled her tight against him, and gestured at their reflections in the mirror. His next words were possessive, heated, and breathy. "Same to you, my witch."  



End file.
